Wooing a Wolf
by 1Demoness
Summary: Vanora's cousin has returned after years of travel to a woman with 9 children, one on the way, and no ring to show for it. A shield-maiden by birth, and ready to once again protect her only family, Bors has his work cut out for him. Oh, and don't forget the effect that her presence has on the other knights; no alpha would not take a chance for a strong mate. (1st fic)
1. Chapter 1

Hello Reader! This is my first crack at a fanfic. I have read for years, and finally got the balls to write something that came mind after weeks of reading King Arthur fics. Obviously, I do not own King Arthur, the movie, the person, or his knights, but I wish I did. I only created our lovely Margaret. Obviously, the time before the movie is ambiguous, but eventually I will reach the movie storyline.

Also, sorry for then continuous updates. Now that I am done with finals, I reread the chapter and noticed errors. I'll probably do this less in the future, just please bear with me. I now have the time to write more, so the new chapters should hopefully be flowing soon.

Without further ado, here is my lovechild, Wooing a Wolf

('^')

After another long day, with asses hurting and sweat dried into their tunics, the Sarmatians dragged themselves to the tavern in the hope of a hot meal, some refreshing ale and a wench to warm their laps. Yet, one among them wore an expression of almost fear, with a drop of hesitation. Bors, the usually loud and boisterous one of the group, had his want to see his lover Vanora and many bastards overshadowed by a new arrival.

"Bors, you are unusually quite today; have you resigned yourself to the knowledge that 5 and 8 are of my own blood?" nagged the annoying presence of one Lancelot, first knight to their commanding officer.

"Nah, only the arrival of Vanora's cousin. I fear she has arrived to haunt my ass. Vanora's been expecting her and was more excited then usual this morning." Bors reply surprised the others, as he was not one to fear anyone but Vanora. Even Tristan, the usually silent and resigned member of the brotherhood found himself intrigued for reasons other than the need to know every new face at the fort.

"If there be anyone of blood relation to your Vanora, I bet they be a force to be reckoned with. Better yet if they are a woman; I need a new presence in my bed" was Lancelot's reply, to which all the men groaned. Tired of the conversation, the youngers of the group, Galahad and Gawain, moved forth in the hope of getting some ale in before their headaches were worsened; getting to the wenches before the horny Lancelot would just make their arrival a little sweeter.

On arrival at the tavern, they found the absence of children around their feet quite off. While it was as busy as usual, the lack of the kids was confusing as the'd be bored with no entertainment. Finding a table near the bar for the group, they took the time to sit and look around.

When Vanora came by with ale in hand, and the rest if the group finally taking their places, Bors found the nerve again to claim his lover. "So how is number 10 my sweet," punctuated with the usual sloppy kiss and caging hug.

"Kicking more than usual, I expect from all the excitement from Mags' arrival." At that, Vanora wore an ecstatic smile, and Bors one of slight fear. This was the woman he had heard about, who traveled and traded round the world for the 11 years he had known his lover. He knew they kept in touch through sparse letters, and gifts from Mags were common, but knowing that such a large part of his lover's wife could pass judgement on their happiness made him protective of his family, and fear the possibility of no blessing.

"Mags- is that the lass that our bull fears so much?" Galahad inquired, already more relaxed being in the tavern with ale in hand. "Where is she? We want to see who is related to our dearest Vanora."

Seeing Lancelot's gleam of lechery in his eye, Vanora made sure to set some boundaries for fear of their health. "She is entertaining the kids at the table near the exit, making my life easier. But, don't do nothing like you usually do Lancelot- she travels alone because, unlike me, her father had taught her how to handle herself. If you want to keep Little Lancelot intact, you best keep your hands to yourself. That goes for all of you. And call her Margaret- only she can tell you if a nickname is alright."

By this time, you could see the intrigue increase on their faces. Never had they met a warrior-woman, at least not one on the battlefield with the Woads. "But don't women remain in the house? Isn't this against your ways?" Gawain asked, meaning no insult with his curiosity.

"Aye, but my cousin hails from Ireland; though she is blond, both our mothers were of red hair, being sisters. Her mother met a Saxon merchant, combining two cultures that support the training of their women as shield maidens, while my mother, her sister, married my father here, not minding the life of a housewife."

The men were surprised; they had not known of her decent, but their attention was brought to the paling face of their comrade. "He's about to faint! Ha, look at 'im." Dagonet made quick to hit his back and ensure that Bors breathed, watching as his skin darkened to red in anger at the laughing knights. "You are so screwed!" Galahad, Gawain and Lancelot continued.

Bors took a long drag of his ale, before standing and placing Vanora safely on the ground with a hand on her baby bump. "I'll go say hi to the rascals." He resigned.

As Vanora walked with her lover, like that of a raptor corralling her prey into her trap, the men looked forward to the display.

('^')

"And thus, the knight carried the princess to safety, the troll destroyed due to his own incompetence."

"Auntie Margie, what does incompetence mean" asked 5, a boy of 4 summers sitting on the other side of the table.

"Why, it similar to lacking skill; the troll could not hope to kill such a skilled knight, and he should have realized that," replied a dirty blond woman, holding the youngest of the group, 8 with less than a summer under her belt, on her lap, surrounded by the rest of her cousin's brood.

"Oh, like father!" replied Gilly, the oldest boy at 10 years, pride swelling in his chest for his father. The woman only smiled, mumbling to herself that "that remains to be seen."

Margaret was a woman of few wants. Her skills in the bow provided food, her needle mended both clothes and wounds, her dogs provided companionship, but she never realized until now how she had longed to be surrounded by family again. At 24 years, she had grown into a woman of unusual beauty. Her travels took her to many dangerous places, going all the way to the Huns, and south to the Mediterranean, hardening her physique with muscle unlike the soft women of Rome. Her fights to protect both her virtue and mercantile goods and possessions left her with scars marring her flesh, including one across the bridge of her nose from an arrow, and a wide three through her left brows from a hungry wolf who smelt her campfire. Yet, her green and blue dichromatic eyes brought beauty to her face, and her curly hair with its natural blond and red highlights created a mane that surrounded her face. To those she knew naught, her face held a bored, unamused expression, yet to those she loved and the children that graced her presence, her smile and air made them laugh and their hearts sore. No matter where she went, or how dirty she was, children flocked her, and she made sure to share in their mischiefs, as well as her knowledge of pranks and fairytales.

Though, for the man she noticed that approached with an arm protectively around her cousin, she let her face fall into neutrality. A man with the balls to marry before she arrived would be buried since he did not ask permission; a man that wooed and asked permission when he could not hope to protect her family would face the same fate. But this man was a grey zone; he had pupped his cousin with many children, yet he didn't marry her in the hope of giving them a little security, but what security did he have until he was free of Rome? She didn't know how to proceed, which was rare.

"Mags, you there?" Vanora's brought her back to reality.

"Oh sorry; so is this the male who pupped you?"

Vanora reddened, whether from embarrassment or annoyance or anger, or a combination, she didn't know, and wouldn't know since he stepped in. "Bors, not male, and aye tha' was me. These be my bastards, she be my lover, and I don't need your permission to continue to love her. Though, I would ask you not judge."

Margaret definitely didn't expect that. "Well said, though marriage will definitely need my permission in the future, when you are free of course. And if you die, I with drag your ass back from wherever you have gone since these bastards will need ya; as well as ma' dear cousin. Understood." He smiled and nodded, before sweeping her into a hug.

"You ain't so bad-" was all he got before she punched him in the stomach.

"And that's my initiation; you're gonna have to earn that hug with endured pain." He was still wincing, though seemed to have a deeper respect for her since the punch did hurt deep. "No, children, I'm going to hang out with the boring adults, will you be okay without me?" All they did was nod before running outside, playing tag like she taught earlier.

"Bors, let's have a drink," and with a malicious smirk and a wink to Vanora, she managed to drag the large man to the bar for an ale.

('^')

From the knights' point of view, they were surprised and almost disappointed until the punch. All they saw was the approach to the woman they couldn't see clearly due to the children crowding her bench, but after words were exchanged, they saw Bors hug here out of sight, and next you know he's bent over with the woman standing tall, hand still clenched in a fist and a smile, almost smirk, gracing her face. Seeing her now, they saw she was not like any woman they had seen; even Woad women lacked the muscle that clenched on her bicep. And while she didn't have the curves of those they were used to, they saw a challenge that poked at their predatory instincts. She was obviously not a weak Roman woman, nor a wench easily swept into one's bed; she was a warrior, with scars that told of her strength. Without knowing it, it seemed these men, with less than 2 years left in service to Rome, would have competition on their hands. A strong, lone female was in their midst, and like a bunch of alpha males, each would seek to claim her first.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello Reader! I am back with my next chapter; finals were killer, and suffering a concussion definitely didn't help in getting myself to the computer. Sorry for the delay!

('^')

"So Bors, what do you do when you're not fucking my cousin and babysitting the bastards?" Bors practically spit out his whole drink at that.

"You certainly have a way with words, don' ya lass?" Was all he could get out without choking a second time.

"Heard that one before. Anyways, you're a knight, which entails what exactly?"

"Ah, pretty much being a dog for the Romans. They tell our Commander Arthur where to go, what to do and such, and then we do it. Along the way Woads usually fall to mine and mine brothers' swords, but never really too much problems or drama."

"I see. So are those the fools you are talking about?" Bors turned to look where she was pointing, which was the knights table looking a little more rambunctious than usual. Lancelot with two women, Gawain encouraging Galahad into a knife throwing bet, with Tristan and Dagonet being the other ones sober enough to notice the attention placed on them. Dagonet simply raised his tankard in greeting, while Tristan continued torturing his apple, eyes pinning Margaret to her chair. "Charming lot they seem, though how you got my cousin I'll never know."

Before Bors could take offense, Vanora swooped in with a kiss on his cheek. "Because he's the best one of the lot of course. Plus, you have the letters to prove it Mags; he never did stop pestering me 'til I accepted his advances."

"Tha' I do." With that, Margaret gave a kiss to Vanora's forehead, all the while slipping a dagger out of her sleeve. Just as Tristan made to hit Gawain's knife, she released hers, sending in spiraling over the knight's heads to hit dead center on Gawain's with a solid thud. Of course, not expecting such an onslaught from a non-Tristan direction, all knight's tensed, heads swooping in the direction from wince it came only to find a smirking female nursing her mead.

"My lass, you sure have a hand on you. Where you say you learned tha'?" "I didn't Bors. Now, why don't you introduce me like a good bloke instead of leaving me out to dry, hmm?"

As this was going on, Margaret had no idea what was going on in the knights' heads, and Bors was too drunk to care per usual… or maybe just too high on the drug called Vanora to notice. It seemed as though their eyes dilated as they watched new pray with fresh interest. None but Tristan had accomplished such a feat in their pack, and the surprise brought forth a rush of adrenaline for a fight; a fight of claim, which would lead to much more interesting activities, which would definitely include utilizing those skilled hands… then again, maybe is wasn't adrenaline…. Seeing the female leaning against the bar, they were able to better assess the woman closer up, with less people obstructing their view. Indeed, she was a fine specimen with larger thighs from having to grip a horse over long periods of time which were unobscured by the leather breaches she wore to provide more movement and protection. Her breasts, though nothing like those of the bar wenches they privy to, was discernable due to the tunic and leather vest wore. Though once they made it past the neck, they were hook, line and sinker. Unlike other women they had seen who hated and were disgusted by the thought of scars marring flesh, making for a very awkward roll in the hay, she seemed to wear hers with pride. Her scar across the bridge of her nose helped to frame her eyes like an alluring mask, while the three claw marks across her left eye made one imagine war paint, giving her a more dangerous vibe, ensuring a difficult but all the more worthwhile challenge if one should proceed. Most of all, a strong and beautiful mate is hard to come by in this day and age making her all the more valuable and desired.

Of course, being men, their intense scrutiny of her figure, practically avoiding direct contact with her eyes, left her very unimpressed with much to be desired. There is no doubt that these men were strong and attractive, probably stars of future fantasies, but first impressions are important to her. While Bors passed, his brothers seem to live only by using their Little Knights as radars for their next conquest. Even when they made it past her figure, they went straight to the scars; like what the hell? Going and making a girl all self-conscience without saying a word was a feat, and to say that there were 5 Adonis-like males lacking the mental capacity to break through the fog of lust and mead with full attention on her… she couldn't figure out if she should be embarrassed, angry, flattered or disappointed.

Looking past the group, she pointed and yelled, "my goodness! She has no clothes on." That of course turned all heads except Dagonet, who only raised an eyebrow and smirked as they met eyes. She could tell this one was going to be fun to get to know.

As the others turned back with disappointment written on their faces(except Tristan of course; he just butchered his apple with a little more annoyance). They turned at the sound of clapping, immediately pulled in with green and blue globes in the goddess' face that stood before, only for their thoughts to change modes at her accented voice slightly heavier than that of Vanora's. "Wow. Trully, the wonders of a man's mind is something to behold", and at the sound of Bors' load laughter, they watched as she pulled his head down by the ear. "Oh Bors, don't act all cocky; you looked too, don't deny."

"Nay, I did no such thing. Twas' simply looking over there already I was" and the other ear was grabbed.

"You pig, I sawr it too-" and, per usual, Vanora was shut words were swallowed by Bors' mouth as he lead them to the back for a little more privacy as he made sure his lover knew she was his only.

"Wow, I guess I'll have to get used to that" said Margaret, disgust distinctly portrayed on her face. "Anyways, I am Margaret and I would love you all to stop thinking with yours dicks and actually introduce yourselves so I know who has spent our only time together eyeing me like a piece of meat", her point emphasized by how Galahad and Gawain watched her ass as she walked to grab her forgotten dagger from the game. Pulling out the other two, she walked back to the G squad, handing them to each with the hilts toward their owners, "I believe these are yours?"


End file.
